


there too lilith shall repose

by starkerbee (columbidae)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angels, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Biblical Reinterpretation, Dark Tony Stark, Dreams and Nightmares, Drowning, M/M, Mentioned Drowning, Mentioned Infant Death, Peter Parker Without Powers, Peter Parker as Lilith, Precious Peter Parker, Reincarnation, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Tony Stark as the devil, Tony Stark is not Iron Man, includes Hozier lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-06-28 03:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19803898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/columbidae/pseuds/starkerbee
Summary: “How are you so sure that i’m the one you’re looking for? I’m not a demon, I’m just Peter.”Tony smiles sadly at him, fingers rubbing gently across Peter’s upper arm. “Do you not remember me? Do you not dream of what they’ve done to you? Do you not hear the anguished cries of our sons and daughters? Do you not feel as if you don’t belong on this wretched earth?"





	1. if i was born as a black thorn tree

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags before you start reading this fic. look out for yourselves.

The dreams first started on Peter’s thirteenth birthday. Their motivation was unknown, and they had no clear cause or inducement. They seemingly came out of nowhere, preying on him for their own sickening enjoyment.

No dream before that first night had ever felt that real, that painful.

None of them had ever consisted of empty white deserts, stars shining above and chilling wind knocking into him, feeling like it was slicing through his skin.

None of them had ever been of drowning in angry seas with dark, foaming waves. Catching glimpses of bright white lights above him as he struggled for air.

None of them had ever had the sounds of infants screaming in the backdrop, louder than Peter imagined their tiny lungs could ever scream, making his ears hurt more than anything ever had.

None of them had ever made him wake up sweating, suppressing screams so as to not wake his parents, paranoid and terrified of his own bedroom. Afraid to close his eyes at night.

As the years passed the dreams didn’t stop, and neither did Peter’s prayers concerning them. Peter, who had been raised in a good Christian home, started to believe that maybe this was God’s punishment for him. Why else would be be plagued by these nightmares night after night? Why else would his lord, who cared for all of his earthly children as if they were his own, make him suffer for all of these years? Some nights he wakes up, images of foaming waves still coursing through his mind, to the feeling of his rosary burning against his skin, and he cries for he does not know what he has done to deserve this punishment.

But he does know. He’s always known, no matter how much he’s tried to lock it away.

Peter’s gaze lingers. Not on the skirts and chests of his female classmates as is expected of a teenage boy like him, but on broad shoulders, square jaws, muscular arms and groomed beards. It’s a sin, one that god won’t forgive him for, evident in his ongoing nightly traumas. If God won’t forgive him, why should he ever forgive himself?

It’s the nights during which his dreams of terror are interrupted by flashes of tanned skin, large caressing hands, taut lines of muscle and blinding pleasure that he cries himself back to sleep after he wakes, ashamed down to his very bones but eased back to sleep by visions of slithering emerald colored snakes and fluttering black feathers. 

In the beginning he believed that the dreams would pass with time, healing slowly like a broken bone, giving him back his peaceful nightly rests. But they never did, and the nightmares slowly but surely became a part of Peter himself. His mom stopped worrying about the bags under his eyes, MJ and Ned accepted his low energy, and teachers gave up on getting him excited for class. It all became normal. Peter moves through life like a shell of the person he used to be, the memory of his old self fading into forgetfulness.

He’s seventeen now, on the edge of adulthood, still no clue of what his purpose in life is. He feels like a disappointment most days, just going through the motions without any true goals. Some days it feels like his life isn’t real, like it’s not permanent. And really, why should he try so hard if in the end this life won’t matter to him at all? It’s a thought he doesn’t share anymore, not since it scared the living hell out of Ned the first time Peter mentioned it. He isn’t suicidal, he swears he isn’t, but Peter has just always had this feeling that there is _more_ for him out there. Almost as if he has some higher purpose, only just barely out of his reach at all times.

It’s _frustrating_.

It’s a thought he can’t pull his thoughts away of when he’s walking home one day, exhausted after a long day at school. Normally Ned would walk home with him, but Peter’s best friend stayed home sick today, so he’s alone for now. Peter doesn’t mind being alone, he never truly has. He was alone a lot as a little kid, preferring to play by himself over playing with other children. His parents always joked that he was never truly alone, as he was always blabbering to them about his imaginary friend. ‘Lucy’ is still a name that’s brought up most family gatherings, much to Peter’s discontent.

He’s alone when he enters his home, both of his parents gone on a week long adults retreat with their church. His mom had been anxious about leaving Peter home, but ended up giving in once Peter promised her he’d go over to Ned’s parents if he ran into any trouble.

Not that he’d expected any trouble, really. He knows how to take care of himself, and he isn’t stupid enough to get himself into any danger. 

He kicks off his shoes at the front door, relishing in the fact that if his dad was home, he’d yell at him to put them in the cupboard. It’s the mildest kind of rebellion Peter could think of, but it’s still incredibly satisfying. He walks into the living room, humming a song he doesn’t remember the name of, and flings himself onto the couch. He wiggles a little, reaching behind himself to adjust a decorative pillow or two, before letting out a satisfied sigh. He reaches for the remote control, and switches on the TV. For an hour or two Peter lets himself be distracted by it, any thoughts of schoolwork or other responsibilities disappearing for just a little while. Not letting himself worry a single bit.

\---

The grandfather clock in the dining room eventually chimes six, and shakes Peter out of the trance induced by horrific daytime reality TV. He stands up from his spot on the couch, and makes his way to the kitchen, turning the TV off for now. Peter’s mom has always loved cooking, and because of that his parents made sure to buy a house with as big of a kitchen they could find. Peter’s quite grateful of it, as he’s inherited his moms love of cooking and baking. It’s a good skill to have, and does wonders for distracting Peter whenever he’s stressed. There really is no better way to shut his mind up than slaving over a new recipe.

What Peter doesn’t understand though, is how he hasn’t inherited his moms ability to keep the kitchen stocked full of food at all times.

He’s still a teenager, okay? And some days he just gets into these moods in which he devours every edible thing in sight. Last night had been one of these moods, and now Peter’s staring into an empty fridge with a grumbling stomach. He could always order in a pizza, but the last time he did that he had stomach aches from the greasiness for two whole days. And that’s really something he’s not all too keen to repeat. 

He debates his other options, the Chinese restaurant just outside of town that always delivers their food cold, and the Italian restaurant that somehow has never heard of seasoning. Neither seem too appealing to him, so he grumpily walks back to the hallway and starts putting his shoes back on. He’ll just have to drop by the grocery store instead. He puts on his jacket, checking to see if his keys and wallet are in his pockets, and steps out of the door, pulling it shut behind him.

Thankfully the grocery store isn’t too far away, and Peter can walk there in a minute or fifteen. It’s a familiar route, one that he’s taken countless times before. The sun is starting to go down, and a gust of wind makes him shiver. The weather had been getting colder these last few days, much to Peter’s discontent. He never has been one to enjoy the cold. He quickens his pace, his shoes occasionally scuffing against the sidewalk. Eventually he reaches the grocery store, it’s familiar neon sign shining brightly against the darkening sky. 

Peter doesn’t hesitate to walk in through the glass sliding doors, grateful to be back in a heated space. TL lights buzz above his head, and a pop song comes crooning out of the speakers hung up on the wall. It’s not Peter’s favorite place to be, but it’s a fine grocery store nonetheless. He walks towards the shopping carts, grabbing the handle of the one on the end of the line. The carts make loud screeching noises as he pulls on them, and he cringes when he finally manages to tug it free with a loud banging noise. One of the women behind the counter, named _Esther_ judging from her name tag, narrows her eyes at him in annoyment. Peter gives her an apologetic smile, and quickly walks away, pushing the cart out in front of him.

The store feels deserted, Peter doesn’t see a single other person as he walks from isle to isle. His cart fills up slowly as he progresses. A jar of pasta sauce, some crackers, a box of spaghetti, a few onions, a bag of spinach, two frozen pizzas, a bottle of sprite, a loaf of bread and a tub of chocolate ice cream. More than enough food to satisfy him for another day or two, he reckons. He opts for the self-checkout, not willing to face the cassiere again so quickly. He scans his groceries efficiently, the beeping of the machine loud over the sappy love ballad playing in the background. He finishes quickly, shoving his purchases into a plastic bag.

He holds his bagged groceries in one hand as he pushes his cart with the other, bringing it back to the line where he’d grabbed it. This, thankfully for both him and Esther, goes much smoother, and he’s walking back out the glass sliding doors in minutes. it’s truly gotten dark now, street lights illuminating the car park in front of him. The streets, much like the store behind him, are deserted. He walks quickly, eyes darting past lit up windows, the families inside busy with their dinner. Watching them makes a weird feeling crawl up Peter’s spine, something that makes him feel uneasy and weirdly jealous. It doesn’t make sense, considering that Peter’s family does the same thing most weeknights. Nevertheless he decides to make a small deroute, crossing the road and walking into an ally, and then out again into a field. This route takes him to his house, but meanders past the edge of the nearby forest instead of through the residential area. It’s not as well lit, and Peter knows that his mother would scold him for taking it, but somehow feels safer to him right now. 

The hand that he has been using to carry the bag of groceries is starting to cramp up, and so he stops momentarily to pass it into his other. Behind him something moves, the sound of a twig snapping ringing through Peters ears. He quickly turns around, his heart beating loudly in his chest. His eyes flicker across the field, but there’s nothing there. He stands there for a second, legs frozen in the aftermath of a scare. Peter tells himself that it was nothing, that he’s imagining things, and turns back around. If he jogs the rest of the way home and blames it on the fact that his ice cream is melting then, well, who’s to blame him for it?


	2. i'd wanna be felled by you, held by you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: animal death.

_Ain't it a gentle sound, the rolling in the graves?_

_Ain't it like thunder under earth, the sound it makes?_

_Ain't it exciting you, the rumble where you lay?_

_Ain't you my baby, ain't you my baby?_

  


Peter hums along to the radio, hands submerged in soapy water. He’s busy scrubbing a pan with a sponge, cleaning off the remnants of tomato sauce. His eyelids are drooping shut and all he wants to do is sleep, but he’d promised himself that he’d finish this task tonight. Waking up to dirty dishes isn’t something he looks forward to. The song ends and bleeds into the next one just as Peter reaches for a dry towel. He dries off the pan, softly swinging his body along to the music as he does. He eventually wipes of the last of the soap suds, and places the pan back in the cupboard where it belongs.

He’s home alone, there’s absolutely no doubt about that. His mom had texted him an hour earlier, talking to him about how she and his dad would be home late tomorrow night. So, logistically there’s no one in his home but him. Which is odd, because he can feel the telltale tingle on his neck that means someone is staring at him. He slowly reaches his right hand up to his neck, rubbing it in order to get rid of the sensation. This time it doesn’t work.

Peter freezes, scared of someone actually being behind him, but somehow even more scared of the possibility that there’s _nothing_ there. Because then he’ll have to start doubting his instincts, and that really isn’t something Peter feels comfortable thinking about, let alone actually doing. The feeling on the back of his neck doesn’t disappear, and so he grits his teeth, and decides that he has no choice but to look behind him. When he does finally turn around, hands sweating and heart beating rapidly, it’s to the bone chilling sight of _absolutely nothing_.

There’s nothing there.

Peter honks out a laugh, amused by his own dramatics. Of course there’s no one there, It’s not like anyone would ever break into a house in a town like this. This town is pretty much as safe and boring as a place could ever be. Peter brings his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes with both of them. He’s just tired, he reasons with himself as he focuses on the darkness behind his eyelids. He just needs to finish cleaning up and then he’ll go to bed. Peter lets out a sigh, dropping his hands down and opening his eyes, blinking at the blurriness he’s greeted with.

“Good evening, Peter.” A deep voice speaks.

And Peter, well- He doesn’t actually do anything. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t yell and he definitely doesn’t run away. He really just stands there, frozen to the floor, unmoving. All his body allows him to do is watch, eyes glued to the intruder who has seemingly appeared out of thin air.

The man in front of him looks intimidating. There's an air or confidence surrounding him, evident in his stance and body language. The man stands tall, chest pushed out ever so slightly, head held up highly. His salt and pepper beard is immaculately groomed and shaved into an intricate pattern. The suit he's wearing is colored pitch black, offset with a blood red tie knotted around the man’s neck. His eyes are a smoldering brown, and looking into them makes a shiver run down Peter’s back. The man shoots him a cunning smirk, seemingly pleased with Peter’s reaction to him.

“Aren't you going to return the sentiment?” The man asks, his words clearly pronounced but somehow still managing to sound the slightest bit grumbled.

Peter awkwardly clears his throat, “Uh, hi.”

The man steps forward, inching closer to Peter. Peter’s body suddenly activates its fight-or-flight reaction, as Peter springs to the side and bumps against the back doorway. The only thought racing thought his brain being that he needs to get out, and that he needs to get out _now._ He reaches for the doorknob, fumbling with it for a moment before remembering that it was locked. He curses, glancing back behind him to see that the man is still standing there, looking calm and collected. Peter turns back to the doorknob, pulling on it frantically in the hope that it'll suddenly open up. His palms and forehead are starting to sweat, and his whole body starts shaking in fear. The door doesn't open.

Peter sinks down onto his knees, his eyes starting to tear up in frustration and fear now, and he turns around to face the man who'd invaded his home. The man looks down at him, calmly shaking his head and tutting at him. Seemingly unbothered by Peter’s attempt to escape.

“Oh well there's no need for that now, Peter. I'm not here to harm you. I just want to have a little chat with an old friend, that's all.”

Peter curls in on himself, huddling against the door even closer. “Who- Who are you?” He manages to squeak out. “What are you doing here? What- What do you want?”

The man barks out a laugh, a loud one that echoes throughout the kitchen. The type of laugh that would cheer up a room in any situation other than this one. It makes another shiver run through Peter, and the man cocks his head to the side. His smile drops slightly, and he shakes his head.

“Now sweetheart, this won’t do. We can’t have you sitting on the floor like this. I know you deserve much better than that.”

The man stretches out his right arm, snapping his fingers twice in rapid succession. There’s a loud bang in another room, followed by the sound of something scraping over a hard wooden floor. Peter sees a thing fly into the room- Two things actually, he corrects himself. The movement is blurry in his peripheral vision, and at first he can’t really make out what they are. The objects both come to a stop, clattering against the tile floor beneath Peter’s feet. They’re chairs. One is positioned with its back against the kitchen counter, and the other stands not too far away opposite it.

Peter lets out a yelp. This situation was already terrifying to him as it was, but now that he’s found out that this intruder can apparently make furniture levitate turns it into proper nightmare material. He pinches the skin of his arm, praying that it’ll make him wake up from another bad dream. It doesn’t work. Instead he just starts sobbing out of fear.

“C’mon,” the man speaks, “Sit down. Then I’ll tell you all you want to know.”

Peter hesitates, but eventually attempts to stand up. He doesn’t know what this man wants from him, but in his own panicked state of mind all he can think of doing is obeying. It might just end up being the one thing that saves his life. He just has to listen to what’s asked of him. Then he'll be fine. Peter’s legs feel weak, and they tremble slightly as he picks himself up from the kitchen floor. He’s still crying, but the man doesn’t seem to care.

Peter sits himself down on the chair closest to him, half expecting the man in front of him to sit down on the other. That doesn’t happen though, and Peter watches as the man instead leans forward slightly and crosses his arms on top of the back of the chair. It’s a show of power and confidence, exactly the two things that Peter is currently missing.

“So.” the man speaks, “Let’s start answering all those questions of yours. Should we begin with the first one?”

Peter nods timidly, curled in on himself in his chair. He’s started pulling the fabric of his sweater over his hands, subconsciously trying to be as small as he can possibly make himself. MJ once told him that it’s some type of instinct thing people do to protect themselves, but in his state of absolute terror he can’t recall anything more than that.

Fuck, he really wishes MJ was here right now. She’d know what to do.

“You asked me who I was, right? Well, I go by Tony these days, but I think you might know me as _Lucifer.”_ Tony’s words seem to echo throughout the room, sounding even louder and more intimidating than anything he’d said previously. Peter’s head jumps up, Tony sees the kid’s brow furrow in confusion.

“What? You’re _the devil_?” He asks, voice laced with disbelief.

Tony cocks an eyebrow, looking Peter directly in the eyes. Tony raises his right arm and snaps his fingers. Suddenly there’s a ring of hellish fire burning around the two of them. It crackles and snaps, close enough to Peter that he jumps up from his chair at the feeling of heat dangerously close to him. The flames are tall, reaching up to Peter’s chest. A nearby kitchen towel is lit aflame, the sparks from the ring of fire starting to spread further into the room. The smell of smoke starts filling the space just as Peter turns to Tony- _Lucifer,_ with fear in his eyes. Tony just smirks at the way all blood seems to have drained from Peter’s face, turning the boy’s skin a sickly pale color. It’s a reaction Tony’s well aquatinted with, but that never seems to get less entertaining.

“-Stop it! I believe you, I do! You don’t have to burn the house down. I’ll do anything! Whatever you want!” Peter is desperately screaming. The kid is frantic at this point, whipping his head around to watch the damage that’s Tony’s inflicting on his home. His eyes are swollen and red from the crying, and the tear tracks on his cheeks are illuminated by the light of the fire.

Tony has to say, It’s an adorable sight. And so he takes pity, snaps his fingers once more, and looks as the flames vanish.

Peter’s yelling tapers off, become quieter and quieter until he’s just completely silent. Tony just smiles as he watches Peter’s dumbfounded expression. Peter is still turning around in circles, staring at the remnants of smoke and the burn marks on the floor. His shoulders are slumped, and he just looks completely defeated. At this point he isn’t even crying anymore. All of the power seems to have been completely drained out of him. Eventually he just sits back down on his chair, letting out a shaky breath as he does. The room is quiet for a moment.

“You know-” Tony breaks the silence, “the name Peter really suits you. Better than anything else they’ve named you before this.”

“Before this?”

Tony nods. “This isn’t the first life you’ve lived. Far from it, actually. Of course you weren’t ever _you_ in any of them. Not this you, and not the true you either.”

This seems to catch the kid’s attention, judging by how he perks up slightly and cocks his head to the side. It’s cute. Kinda reminds Tony of a puppy.

“What do you mean the true me?” Peter asks. “This is the true me. Even if I have actually lived as many lives as you claim, they were all me in the end. So they were all the true me, right?”

Tony smiles, obviously entertained by the fact that Peter is questioning him instead of doubting him. Tony leans back in, resting against his own chair once more. The look in his eyes changes, softening a slight bit. He suddenly looks a lot less terrifying to Peter. Tony actually looks quite attractive like this.

“You’re somewhat on the right track with that thought.” Tony answers him. “All of your past lives are connected in a way, but they aren’t connected by the you that you are currently. They are reincarnations of a sort. All of them are shards of the _original_ you. The you that I used to know.”

“There’s an original me?” Peter questions.

Tony just nods.

“Then who am I really? Who is the original me?”

This man, the embodiment of all things unholy, steps away from the chair and walks over to Peter. He reaches his hand out to Peter’s face, slowly and delicately. Like he’s trying not to scare the boy away. Tony runs his thumb over the gentle slope of Peter’s cheek, smiling as the boy subconsciously leans into the touch. Peter’s body language is an array of contrasts by now. He’s leaning into Tony’s touches, yet his eyes are still a bit wide with fear. His shoulders are slumped against his chair, but he’s started digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

Tony can see the two parts of Peter fighting for dominance inside of the boy’s head. The part of him that’s been conditioned to believe he belongs on earth trying to get as far away from Tony as possible. The demonic part of him, the part that’s been locked away for centuries, ecstatic that it’s finally reunited with its one true love.

“Your original name is Lilith, you were Adam’s first wife. You were one of the first two humans. You were created equally to Adam, and as such you refused to submit to him. Your god betrayed you for this, and shunned you from the Paradise. You fled to the desert, in an attempt to escape your vengeful god. I don’t know how much time you spent there, but you were battered and bruised when I found you. I brought you back to safety, and you decided to stay with me. We fell in love. You decided to don a new identity, one not pushed onto you by a deceitful god. You became the first demon. You became the one I hold most dear.”

Tony’s eyes tear up, his facial expression a mixture of sadness and anger. It’s clear to Peter that the man -no, the demon- feels very strongly about him. No one has ever spoken to Peter with this much emotion, it’s almost overwhelming. The mentions of a desert stops Peter’s thoughts in their tracks. He’s never told anyone about the details of his dreams, there’s no way anyone would know about the desert he sees in his dreams. There’s no way Tony could know about them. 

“And then they _took_ you from me. They threatened to _murder_ our offspring. You fled to the Red Sea, and tried to drown yourself to escape the angels who were hunting you. You threw your body into an angry ocean to rescue yourself from the entity you now worship. They told me you’d perished, but I knew it wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true. I could feel you were still alive. And now i’ve found you, and after centuries I can finally hold you again, my love.”

Peter jerks his head away as if he’s been burned. His brow furrows, the unblemished skin of his forehead creasing. His lips part in disbelief, and Tony can’t help but recognise the wild look flashing in Peter’s eyes. His one love, his heart's desire, is in there. He’s assured of it. How can he not be when Peter looks at him with eyes that Tony’s stared into a thousand times before, when Peter’s frame fits into his like they were created to be pressed against each other, when Peter’s voice sounds like his own heaven to him, sweeter than any fruit could ever be?

“How are you so sure that i’m the one you’re looking for? I’m not a demon, I’m just Peter.”

Tony smiles sadly at him, fingers rubbing gently across Peter’s upper arm. “Do you not remember me? Do you not dream of what they’ve done to you? Do you not hear the anguished cries of our sons and daughters? Do you not feel as if you don’t belong on this wretched earth?

I have been searching for you for many lifetimes, but they, _the angels_ , have kept you hidden. They thought I would never find you. But I did. Earlier in this particular lifetime of yours I managed to track you down. Do you not remember the time we spent together? Back then you called me by my true name, or well your own version of it. Lucy, wasn’t it?” 

Tony laughs fondly at this, his face morphing into something soft and kind as he reminisces.

\---

_“C’mon Lucy! I have something I want to show you!” A 7 year old Peter says, his denim dungarees dirty with mud and his bright smile missing a tooth. He’s tugging on the pants of Tony’s black suit, pulling the man in the direction of whatever the boy has found. Tony, or Lucy as Peter currently prefers to call him, follows without hesitation. They cross a field of high grass, and Tony has to try hard not to laugh at the sight of how the top of Peter’s head barely sticks out above it. Peter leads him into the forest, letting go of Tony’s pants in order to grab the man’s hand somewhere along the way. They loop around a few trees before finding somewhat of a clearing hidden between the vegetation. There are some bushes near the middle of it, and before Tony knows it Peter’s sprinting towards them with strides as long as his tiny legs can possible make._

_“Look!” The kid says excitedly, waving Tony over to him._

_Tony finds him crouched besides a cardboard box, seemingly slightly weathered from last night’s bout of rain. Peter reaches for the flaps of the box, glancing up at Tony to make sure he’s still looking. The kid opens the box, and out comes a symphony of high pitched mews. They’re kittens, four of them to be exact. Three of them are grey, with little white paws and pink noses. The other one is a soft orange, curled against itself in one of the corners of the box. They’re all very small, Tony imagines they can’t be more than two weeks old, and sound incredibly displeased at their situation._

_“Where did you find these, Peter?” Tony asks, hand reaching down to pat the boy’s wavy brown hair._

_“Behind Mrs. Tanner’s shed. They were crying really loud, so I took them with me. They’re annoying. People won’t be bothered by them when they’re here.” Peter says, his big brown eyes narrowed in annoyment at the kittens._

_Tony lets his hand down into the box, bumping it softly against the three grey cats. The red one doesn’t seem to notice, for it stays where it is, unmoving. Tony touches it. Cold. Dead. It doesn’t surprise him, it’s obvious that the red one had been the runt of the litter, for it was smaller than the other three. It’s only logical that that one would be the first to die._

_“Do you see that red one, Peter?” Tony asks, waiting for Peter to nod his head wildly. “Do you see how quiet he is? Isn’t that nice?”_

_Peter nods again, turning his head to look up at Tony. Those gorgeous eyes of him might look innocent to anyone else, but Tony knows them better than that. Knows what lies behind them._

_“Do you- Do you think I should make the other ones quiet too?” The kid asks him._

_Tony pretends to deliberate for a little, continuing to run his hand through Peter’s hair as he does. Finally he hums, nodding in agreement._

_“I think that would be for the best.”_

_Peter doesn’t hesitate before closing the flaps of the box again, standing up clumsily from the filthy forest floor. He grabs onto the box, and lifts it up off of the ground. He turns to walk away, but pauses and looks behind him to check if Tony is still following. He then toddles off, walking deeper into the woods with the devil himself right behind him. Peter leads him to a stream, not all that deep, but deep enough for Peter himself to drown in if he isn’t careful enough. That won't be a problem though, he'll always have Tony to look out for him. Peter sets the box down on the bank of the stream. He then plops himself down onto the dirt, his little legs sticking over the edge. Tony crouches beside him, reaching his hand out into the rapidly streaming water._

_“Good pick, Peter.” he says._

_Peter smiles up at him, the epitome of boyish glee. He then turns back, opens the cardboard box, and reaches in. He picks up the red one first, seemingly unbothered by how cold it’s little body is._

_“Gonna do that one first?” Tony asks._

_Peter nods decidedly, seemingly having thought this through very well. “He’s been quiet, like a good kitty. He should go first.”_

_“Alright then,” Tony says, “Why don’t you go put him in?”_

_And Peter does exactly that, reaching out in front of him until the poor kitten’s head is dunked into the water. Peter holds him there for a little, swishing him around in the stream. The kitten lies limp in his hand, and soon enough Peter grows bored. Thankfully for him there are still three more playthings left over. Ones that will be more fun to play with. So he tosses the red kitten, its body being washed away by the water, and reaches back into the box. The next one puts up a fight, scratching against Peter’s hand. It doesn’t stand a chance and soon enough it follows the fate of it’s sibling. Peter just giggles, seemingly greatly enjoying the activity he’s come up with. Beside him Tony is also smiling, gazing down lovingly at the boy next to him. They make a devilish pair the two of them. The dark lord himself, and the boy that roars with innocent laughter as he drowns animals._

_\---_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit this was a difficult chapter to write. For some reason it took me days to get that middle part finished, while it only took an hour or two to write that flashback.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed, and that you'll be back for the final chapter. If you'd like to follow me on my tumblr, I'm also starkerbee over there. Thanks for reading!


	3. fuel the pyre of your enemies

Peter reels back, shifting in his chair to get as far away from Tony as possible. That vision _-That memory, a part of him whispers-_ felt way too real. The sun shining warmly on his face, the water running over his fingers. Both felt like they only happened minutes ago. They felt too real, _too viceral_ , to be just made up. The realisation that this man can apparently mess around with Peter’s head this much makes a shiver run down his spine. Tony’s claim to be Lucifer himself suddenly feels way more real.

“That wasn’t real, it can’t be. Lucy was just someone that I made up. He was never a real person. He was never _you_.” Peter objects, voice shaking.

Tony chuckles, cold and humorless. His already dark eyes seem to get even darker, as his face falls. “He was always me. I was always him. Back then you’d spend most of your waking hours with me. You’d drag me through the forest for hours on end, just chattering along. And every passing day you grew more into the being you once were. Until it all went awry. That memory I just showed you? That was our last day together.”

Tony clenches his fist, anger flashing over his face.

“Drowning kittens is fun, until they wash up on the river bank a mile or so closer to town. I made a mistake, I got too careless. Forgot to clean up after you. Michael was the one who eventually found them, and the one who figured out that I had found you. He used some of his _fucking angel powers_ to keep you hidden, and to keep me away from you. But he could never keep me away from you, none of them ever could. Because you’re mine. _veni domum_. ”

Some voice inside of Peter starts screaming once the latin flows into his ears. It gets louder and louder, almost entirely drowning out Tony’s -no, Lucifer’s words. Domum. _home Home HOME_ **_HOME_ ** _._ Peter’s breathing speeds up, his chest moving up and down desperately. Some part of him, something hidden deep in his consciousness, somehow understood every word that just flowed from Tony’s lips. It’s like a piece of his mind has suddenly broken free, no longer bound by shackles. His mind is hit with a flash flood of memories. Thousands of years suddenly coming back to him.

He’s lived oh so many lives, some to completion but too many ended prematurely. He sees past lovers die, sees his children grow up, he feels his bodies grow old and weak, feels them succumb to illnesses and disease. Peter’s eyes flood with tears at the memories of falling in love, and falling back out of love. He weeps for the lives that never got to their full potential, and for the ones who never had any to begin with. He accepts them all, no matter how horrid some of them are, because subconsciously he knows that they’re all _him_.

Throughout all of these lives, there’s this presence of loss and grieving. It’s like a humming in the back of his head, a constant drone of white noise. It’s like there was always something missing from these lives, like they were never truly complete. It’s with every muscle in his body shaking and tears flowing down his cheeks that he manages to pull himself away from these memories, and back into his current life. The humming stops when he looks up, when he looks into Tony’s eyes.

How could he have been so blind?

Of course this man is Lucifer. Of course this is the man who saved him from a lifetime of oppression in another person’s paradise, the man who took him in, who loved him and cared for him. This is the man who Peter loves, to whom every piece of Peter’s being is devoted to. The man who searched for him even though others perceived him dead, who risked his own life just to spend a little more time with him. Who put it all on the line for Peter, _for Lilith_.

How could he _not_ love him?

And so Peter stands up, still shaky on his legs but filled with renewed energy, with unfamiliar power flowing through his veins. He stands up to his full height, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards when he realises he’s just a little bit taller than the king of hell. He looks into Tony’s eyes, whiskey brown and oh so familiar, and breaks out in a full on grin. Tony smiles back at him, and Peter can feel the love just _radiating_ off of the other man’s body. 

Peter feels happy, like his entire life suddenly makes sense.

And so he wraps his arms around Tony’s shoulders, leans in, and kisses him. Peter wouldn’t necessarily describe it as fireworks going off, but would rather say that it felt more like lava pooling beneath his skin. Warm and hot and heavy, fighting away the chill that had formed in Peter’s bones. It’s like taking that first sip of hot tea after playing in the snow, comforting and calming. Filling up Peter’s entire being and taking away all of the doubts in his mind. It’s a feeling that he didn’t know he’d missed.

When they finally break apart, Peter panting ever so slightly and Tony’s lips tinted pink, it’s with both of them smiling. Peter drops his arms from where they were resting on Tony’s shoulders, only for the other man to grab one of his hands. Their fingers lace together, and their palms press up against one another. 

Tony looks Peter in the eyes once more. “Are you ready to come home with me?” He asks.

Peter looks away momentarily, eyes darting around the bleak kitchen. He won’t miss this house, it never truly felt like home to him after all, but there’s other things from this life that he knows he will miss. Sleepovers with his friends, sneaking into the cinema to watch movies he’s too young for, reading up on the newest scientific discoveries, his mom’s homemade tomato soup. But then he looks back at Tony, squeezes his hand lightly, and nods.

Of course he’ll miss things, but he knows he’ll get more than enough in return for it.

Tony grins devilishly, his teeth shining in the moonlight streaming in through the curtains. There’s a glint in his eyes that Peter can’t decipher, doesn’t really want to. Tony grabs onto his hand a little tighter, rubbing his thumb over the back of Peter’s hand. The older man pulls him toward the back door, managing to open it even though Peter knows it had been locked just minutes earlier. 

A sky of stars hangs above them, feeling almost threatening with their bright light. Peter doesn’t pay attention to them, instead looking intently at the man in front of him. He plants his feet firmly into the grass beneath them, preparing for something, but not knowing what. In front of him Tony rolls his shoulders, closing his eyes in concentration for just a second. There’s loud cracking noise, like bone snapping in half. In the blink of an eye two gigantic black wings unfurl from Tony’s back, the gust of wind that comes with this action knocking over a nearby lawn chair. The wings continue to flap almost threateningly hard, making Peter’s curls fly around wildly. Peter just smiles. Tony pulls him closer, swinging his free arm around the boy’s petite waist.

“Then let's go home.” He says, before the two of them fly up and disappear into the night sky, leaving behind only a burned kitchen and a mediocre life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand it's finished. The ending of this story can of course be interpreted in multiple ways. Do you believe that Tony was telling the truth, and that Peter truly is Lilith? Or do you choose to believe that Tony was just messing with Peter's head to get him to come along for something completely different? I'd love to hear you guys's thoughts on this!
> 
> This fic was definitely more of a passion project than anything else i've ever written, and I honestly loved the whole process. The research was so fun to do, and I learned a whole lot.
> 
> Anyway, if you'd like to discuss this fic or honestly just talk about anything else, you can find me on tumblr under the same username as on here. Hope you all have a wonderful day!

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clear a few things up, this fic is inspired by the myth of Lilith, but it definitely is very different from the original myth. I've taken a bunch of creative liberties with it, so religion buffs please don't come for me lol. (I do really recommend you all read the original myth, it's absolutely fascinating)
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed, and that you'll be back for the next two chapters. If you'd like to follow me on my tumblr, I'm also starkerbee over there. Thanks for reading!


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